Pump

by Gary Denne

  “Pump’s a helluvu’ drug,” Violet said.

  Sean suddenly looked queasy. He got up from the sofa and ran to the bathroom, vomiting into the sink just in time. He took a moment to recover his breath. The flowing water from the facet washed the horrible memories down the drain.

  “Sorry,” he said, returning from the bathroom.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’m Sean.”

  “I know,” the girl said, gesturing to one of her computer screens and a page of information that had been at her fingertips for a while now.

  Sean took notice. He stared a little closer at the display and could see the bland ID photo of himself that had been taken by Maddox during his New Jersey lottery processing.

  “Is that...” he began to ask.

  “Yep, that’s your entrant file,” she replied. “Everything’s there.”

  “How did you get all this?”

  “Well, Maddox security isn’t that hard to hack,” she stated, adding, “There’s a backdoor or two ... especially to the population database.”

  “What’s this really long number here?” Sean said, pointing at the screen.

  “That’s your MET ID.”

  Sean looked away and pondered for a brief moment.

  “So even in paradise everyone’s just a number?” he said depressingly.

  “’Fraid so,” Violet answered.

  “What’s all this stuff for?” he asked, looking around at the tech setup scattered around the apartment.

  “It keeps me connected ... informed.”

  “About what?”

  “Maddox,” she said with a certain distaste.

  As Sean continued to glance casually around her apartment, it suddenly became apparent to him that there was a second theme to the place that the candlelight now revealed. Yes, there was an abundance of tech equipment, a hacker’s paradise. But he started noticing little things he had been too distracted to notice earlier. Like the sex swing hanging from the ceiling in one corner. Or the mounted stripper’s pole from floor to ceiling in another. A half-dozen wigs that sat on Styrofoam heads on a table. Stilettos, pumps and knee-high boots lined up against a wall. There was a mess in the small kitchen. Food on the kitchen top, bottles of booze half-empty. Loads of papers and notes were piled around the apartment, leading to large corkboards on the wall, each covered in items, scribbles and oddities. Finally, he noticed the collection of weapons tucked away on a shelf at the end of a desk. Knives and a couple handguns were visible, casually lying there underneath a bunch of other junk and equipment.

  “Seems that’s not all you do,” Sean said curiously.

  She didn’t respond.

  “So,” he said turning to her, “what the hell do we do now?”

  “Get some rest. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the tunnels.”

  “Tunnels?”

  “It’s your only chance to get out of the city. They’re heavily protected, and it’s not without risk, but I’ll show you who you have to talk to. After that, you’ll be on your own … I won’t be able to help you any further.”

  “I thought the city was locked down?” Sean said.

  “Well,” she said, looking at him with assurance, “every system has its weak spots.”

  The cat rubbed up against Sean’s leg and inspected the gaffe tape, sniffing it for approval.

  “So that’s it?” Sean asked angrily. “I have to throw all of this away and go back to the outside? Just like that? Do you know the shit I went through to do all this lottery crap!”

  She paused.

  “I’m sorry,” she told him, regretfully being the bearer of bad news. “They won’t let you stay here now. Not after this. At best, you’ll be held indefinitely in one of their facilities.”

  “And worst?”

  “You’ll be dead.”

  Sean was silent. He tried to process his options.

  “I made a split decision tonight to find you and try to warn you. These games Maddox run ... I’ve never interfered with them. But tonight, I just ... I don’t know ... I couldn’t just sit back and let it happen anymore. Maybe I’ve made things worse.”

  Sean was solemn as he stared back at her. He processed the idea that in an instant, he had lost what he had coveted for so long. The chance of a normal life again. The chance to start over, away from the outside world where the only life anyone knows is survival. He felt helpless.

  “Thanks … for stepping in. I mean it,” he acknowledged of her actions.

  “Are you sure you didn’t get hit? Adrenalin is pretty efficient at blocking pain receptors, you know,” Violet asked him.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Sean felt around his body for any injuries or blood. He seemed okay. He may have been having a very unlucky day, but at least he had somehow managed to dodge Roberts’ firepower.

  Violet reached down and unzipped her leather boots, pulling them from her feet and flinging them over to the wall to come to rest for another night. Without a word, she stood up and started to unbutton her black leather pants, casually sliding them down her legs, revealing gorgeous silky smooth skin with more ink tattoos wrapping themselves around her body in various patterns and design.

  Needless to say, Sean was a little taken aback in the moment. It showed on his face. His mind had already been more than a little teased from the girl in the green dress, and despite the events that had unfolded, he couldn’t help but feel the raised heartbeat in his chest as he tried not to look.

  She kicked her pants over to the clothes pile on the floor.

  In only her black lace thong and white top, Violet walked over to her apartment window as casual as could be and looked out to the city. Sean admired her from behind. He couldn’t help but eyeball her, what with her bare white cheeks exposed and only a flimsy, stretched piece of lace covering her modesty. Along with a scar on her right calf, covered partly by her vine-like intertwining tattoos, her body was lightly marked and scratched. She had obviously seen her share of adventure and it certainly made him wonder. Her behind, her figure, the tattoos etched into her skin ... she was a unique work of art. But he didn’t dare let himself get caught leering at her. He took one last look and turned away.

  Drawing the blinds, Violet walked to the kitchen, opened her refrigerator and spied the shelves, looking for something suitable. She pulled out a plastic container and scooped some kind of mixture of meat-like paste and vegetables from it, placing a good-sized scoop down onto a plate for puss. The cat darted over and knocked her hands away, trying to get at the dinner.

  As the cat munched away at the food, Violet spied a used fork from the kitchen sink and proceeded to take a few mouthfuls from the container herself, picking and poking at the paste and eating it quickly. After only a few mouthfuls, she was done. She washed her hands quickly in the kitchen sink, and then without any qualms, lifted her top up over her head revealing a black lace bra underneath. She threw the tank down to the pile of dirty clothes against the wall and then casually reached around and removed her bra, letting her full-sized, voluptuous breasts break free.

  Violet was not the shy type.

  Sean did his best to keep cool. But if there was one thing that was going to help ease his nerves and forget the events that had taken place, a topless girl walking around an apartment was a damn good start.

  Violet tossed her bra onto the clothes pile and grabbed a bottle of liquor that was on the kitchen counter, pouring herself a drink into a dirty glass nearby. Sean tried to remain calm as she turned to him and asked, “Want one?”

  “Uh, I’m good thanks,” he said.

  Her breasts lifted gently as she tilted her head back and downed the drink, straight.

  “So,” Sean said with a pause, “what’s your thing?”

  “My thing?” she looked at him strangely.

  “You know ... uh, what do you do in the city?”

  As much as Sean had seen his fair share of women in his time, he was finding it hard to spit out his words. Amazi
ng what a topless girl can do to a man’s focus.

  Violet walked to the bathroom, ignoring Sean’s increasing curiosity.

  “A bit of everything,” she finally yelled from the sink.

  He could see her at the bathroom mirror, quickly removing her makeup and taking colored contacts from her eyes. Sean watched as she grabbed at her hair and slowly lifted a wig from her head, revealing a short, cropped head of chestnut hair. In an instant, she had become someone new ... someone else. Still surprised by her boldness, the change in her appearance was enough to leave Sean sitting there in silence, not knowing what to say anymore.

  Ensuring he was discreet, Sean watched as she checked herself closely in the mirror, running the facet for water to wash her face with. With that, he decided to get up from the couch and casually peruse the apartment a little closer. He walked over to the bookshelf and browsed books and picture frames. In many of the photos, he picked the girl out, although she was a lot more innocent looking than the current incarnation before him. In the photo frames, she was a smiling, happy, teenager, together with friends and family in good times gone by. A grey-haired gentleman was pictured in one of the photos, and together with a strikingly similar-looking girl to Violet, Sean presumed it was a photo of her family. A father? A sister? The similarities between each of them were certainly there. He carefully placed the frame back on the shelf.

  He moved on, stepping around boxes of papers and belongings, reaching one of the corkboards mounted on the apartment walls. He ran his eyes briefly over the notes and photos pinned to the board. A large map of the world was pinned up nearby on the wall of the apartment. It was rugged and old, and had plenty of scratches and tears. He looked at it closely. It had been marked with red marker pen in various regions. There were circles and question marks. Lines and paths. He couldn’t make out the scribbled handwriting on the map, but wondered why clusters of small islands in the Pacific Ocean were highlighted. On the desk below, there was paperwork upon paperwork. Mountains of the stuff. Receipts, cards, scribbled phone numbers, addresses and names. It was a random cache of information. He scanned over the desk, peering and lifting a few things here and there, careful not to disturb anything or knock it out of its place. There were pens, pencils, an old-fashioned antique compass, weather charts, navigational charts, computer logs and several lines of latitude and longitude coordinates. A half-covered photo caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He gently slid it out from under some papers. It was a photo of a yacht out on the water, sailing in the harbor. He could see a name on its stern, but couldn’t make it out.

  Suddenly, the facet turned off. Alarmed, Sean quickly stepped away from the desk and pretended to be stretching his weary body.

  Violet came out of the bathroom and immediately noticed his attempt at a stretch, along with a guilty look written all over his face. She said nothing of it as she furiously towel-dried her cropped locks.

  “Help yourself to some food,” she offered, as she walked over to a security panel on the wall and typed a number on the keypad. It beeped back at her. “Everything else ... you don’t get to touch,” she warned him sternly in her smooth voice. Even without the leather jacket and biker pants, she could still be one intimidating girl.

  “Thanks,” Sean said, as he removed his shoes. He sat back on the sofa again, discreetly glancing at her body in the dim-lit apartment, much of it covered by shadows.

  Violet walked into her bedroom. From the sofa, Sean peered in, trying to get a glimpse. The plush four-poster bed looked so inviting. He could see a messy room; a dresser littered with bottles of perfume, jewelry and grooming items. Piles of clothes were crumpled up on the floor, along with shoes and towels strewn all over the place.

  Violet returned with a pillow, stopping outside her bedroom door to linger, her bare breasts lit by the soft candlelight. She noticed his gaze past her to the bedroom and quickly tossed the pillow at him on the sofa. “Try to get some sleep,” she said abruptly. “Oh, and your leg ... don’t touch that, either. The last thing I need is Maddox crashing down the door.”

  And with that, she closed the bedroom door shut behind her.

  Wake-up Call

  Sean opened his eyes. Was it morning already? Couldn’t be. Shit. With a great amount of effort, he lifted his head up from the sofa and looked around, his eyes half open. He took a drowsy breath in, gathering his thoughts. As his consciousness booted up into reality, he began to recall the night before; The Red Planet, the gunman, the chase. Holy shit—it hadn’t been a horrible dream.

  For a brief second, he glanced around the apartment. It was quiet. Light beamed through the row of windows, making the hardwood floor glow syrup brown. A black cat was happily sunning itself on a pile of clothes. That’s right ... he was remembering it all now. The girl. The biker chick who saved his ass—why, he had no idea. He could see heavy clouds doing their best to block the sun outside. He could hear the sounds of garbage disposal trucks and tweeting delivery vans as they reversed into alleys or parked outside drop-off points. It was a new day in the city.

  As he slowly turned his head sideways to get a glimpse of an antique wall clock, he groaned, feeling like a truck had hit him, estimating it must’ve been going around eighty from the way his head was throbbing. It was 7:45 A.M. He plopped his head back down onto the pillow and closed his eyes, trying to see if closing them again would perhaps change his scenery, or circumstances. Wearing only trunks, showing off his athletic and toned figure, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating his fate. He looked down at his leg. Gaffe tape was still wrapped around his calf. He didn’t dare touch it ... he remembered how anal the girl was about touching anything in her place. Wait a second! Where the hell was she? Now wide awake, Sean quickly scanned around the apartment. She wasn’t there. Apart from puss, he was alone in this sky-high box. This was getting stranger and stranger.

  Sean sat up and put his feet to the floor, rubbing his eyes to gain some extra focus. His mind was still clicking over like an electricity meter. Looking around, he dragged himself over to the kitchen counter and saw a waiting breakfast. Coffee was brewing, and the smell instantly woke him up that little bit more. There was freshly squeezed orange juice in a clean glass, a plate of lightly toasted bagels, and a cream cheese spread. He spotted a piece of paper nearby and reached for it...

  ‘Have some breakfast. Back in 20. Don’t touch anything. V.’

  Sean glanced back at the breakfast. He couldn’t eat. Food was the last thing on his mind. Instead, he turned and walked over to the apartment windows, wanting to see the city, wanting to see if anything had changed, if there was some kind of sign that what had happened was a big misunderstanding. Perhaps there would be a march in the streets, protesting the violence of last night. Maybe the people of the city were not going to accept this ‘game’ any more.

  But it was calm. Peaceful, even.

  Outside, the city stood before him. Skyscrapers crammed alongside each other, small areas of green amongst them, with people buzzed every which way on the streets below like colonies of ants. Directly ahead of him, Sean gazed at one of the towering skyscrapers, what seemed to be easily the tallest among the cluster of surrounding buildings reaching for the clouds. He had not seen it clearly last night for the darkness and storm, but in the sunlight he suddenly realized he was looking directly at the landmark Empire State building. There is stood in all its glory, just like he’d seen on television and in old books and magazines. It was an impressive work of architecture and commanded the city’s respect, however as Sean admired it from the window, it suddenly clicked. The Empire State building was Maddox HQ. Its name and global logo was depicted on signage atop the building, just before the spire rose into the sky. He stared at the tower, a look of anger on his face. They were the ones who were responsible for last night. They were the ones who thought they could murder dozens of innocent people without a moment’s thought. They were the ones who cut down a gorgeous and vivacious
local girl in the prime of her life. Those bastards.

  He looked away, upset and repulsed by the memory. The girl in the green dress, Xanthe ... he could still remember her in those moments leading up to the carnage. He could see her smile, her face ... hear her words. At least she had enjoyed her final moments of life.

  After some reflection, Sean turned from the view and was careful to quietly walk towards Violet’s closed bedroom door. For a moment he paused, and then put his ear close to the door, listening in. There was no sound.

  He gently knocked.

  Still nothing.

  He looked over to the breakfast and the scribbled note on the kitchen top and then tapped on the door again, this time slowly opening it after the last knock. He peered in. She was gone.

  He entered the bedroom slowly, carefully scanning around the space. He stepped closer when an item made him curious, glancing at anything that took his interest. Like the rest of the apartment, it was well lived in, with a cluttered feel of everyday regular items everywhere he looked. Books. Personal items. Photos. Seashells. There were bottles of spirits on the floor and dresser, with a collection of homemade cigarettes—used butts and rolled singles all over the place. Some of what he thought were perfume bottles last night, he could now make out to be small glass jars, the kind used for homemade jams or sauces. Some kind of chemical concoctions were being stored in them. An ink blue liquid sat idle in several of the jars. It looked like window cleaner. Other jars were filled with varying shades of a bubblegum pink liquid. And in a single jar sitting alongside these colored liquids, there was the odd one out ... a solid, milky white substance. Whatever it was, it looked kind of gross; like used dishwater. Then again, the colored liquids sitting there didn’t exactly look like a barrel of fun, either.